


Relapses

by aviatordame



Category: Hyrule Warriors: Age of Calamity (Video Game), The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: F/F, Pre-Age of Calamity, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-23
Packaged: 2021-03-25 12:15:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30088950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aviatordame/pseuds/aviatordame
Summary: With all the stress and arduous pressure that comes with being Hyrule's only hope, Zelda turns to her advisor for comfort. As always, Impa is happy to help.[Zelda/ImpaPre-Age of Calamity]
Relationships: Impa/Zelda (Legend of Zelda)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 16





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, an anonymous user on Tumblr requested a Zelimpa secret affair AU, and this happened.  
> Expect the rating to change to explicit. Obvs. But anyway, enjoy!

On several occasions, Zelda has successfully avoided meetings with her father, snuck past the guards and located a quiet, hidden place where she can figure out how to not lose her temper. This involves a lot of ranting, or even physical outbursts; the castle walls have, at the very least, been useful to steel her knuckles. Nobody ever really sees the princess angry, which is probably just as well, as her temper can be challenging.

Not that she can be _blamed_ necessarily. The pressure to access her god given abilities, as well as to rule a kingdom without expressing any signs of emotion, is a lot to take on for a seventeen year old. Unfortunately, most people don’t see her age. They just see what she is, or what she is _supposed_ to be. Being a demi god certainly has its perks, if those qualities that make her a god actually _worked_ , but clearly, unlike the princesses in legend, Zelda still has a long way to go before she can achieve her potential.

Which is a matter her father, in particular, grows increasingly concerned with as each day passes. It is no secret from the staff that he is _harsh_ with his daughter. As his only child, as well as the next in line, it’s hard enough for a sovereign to actually _love_ what will replace them when they are dead. However, the fact all of Hyrule depend of Zelda to access her powers, and she is _failing_ to do that, only makes him colder towards her. Anybody with some idea of psychology would assume he is tough on Zelda because he is terrified of losing her, while also afraid of what she is capable of.

For Zelda, though, it is hard to sympathise with his position. He _is_ cruel, he _is_ cold, he _is_ a bastard sometimes and they have never been close. She appreciates her father is also under a great deal of pressure, that he has armies to prepare, that his entire kingdom may perish; she appreciates the fact he is, indeed, a king who has a war looming. All those factors do not erase the fact his behaviour towards Zelda makes it difficult not to loathe him.

Despite her father’s beliefs, Zelda has been training excessively the past couple of years. Her training was only all the more brutal when King Rhoam appointed his royal advisor to guide his daughter. To essentially teach her, yes, but also protect her, which only adds insult to injury. As kind and patient as Impa is, Zelda struggles not to feel judged or, at least, belittled. Impa is a superior warrior, that much is clear, and her extensive knowledge on combat actually puts Zelda’s intellect to shame. Perhaps Impa doesn’t mean to, but Zelda has felt competition to _be like her_ , which is certainly what her father wants.

Impa _is_ older, though. Zelda estimates she must be around twenty, and with that comes experience and wisdom. It is cruel to compare herself to somebody who is not only older, but who has also had a completely different lifestyle. Not to mention the Sheikah tribe are renowned for their skill in battle; they are the best of the best, and their natural superiority in combat has not escaped Zelda. How convenient it must be to possess such skill the moment one is born. And it strikes Zelda that she might actually be jealous.

Which is ridiculous. They are such different people, after all.

For the past hour, Zelda has been sitting beside one of the symmetrical flight of steps leading towards the castle. In her grump, she has been picking flowers, pink petals now scattered around her. She sighs loudly, recognising the sound of footsteps slowly proceeding down the stairway, and looking over, Zelda is not surprised Impa has found her.

It was only a matter of time.

Leaning over slightly, Impa briefly admires the mess of petals, then looks to Zelda, who doesn’t smile.

‘Your Royal Highness. Busy?’

‘What do you want?’

‘His Majesty requests your presence.’

Zelda huffs. ‘Well, he’s not having it.’

Impa makes a noncommittal grunt. She proceeds down the stairs, and comes to stand in front of the young princess. Folding her arms, Impa looks down at her, with one brow raised. ‘With all due respect, I don’t think _avoiding_ him is going to help much. I suggest you meet him.’

‘No,’ Zelda exhales. Her expression has fallen. The idea of seeing her father is honestly depressing. ‘I know what he will say. I know what he thinks of me. I hear him voice his opinion of me every day.’ She shakes her head. ‘I’m a disappointment. A failure. Trust me, I _know_.’

Impa doesn’t respond immediately. Zelda wonders if she even cares. To be honest, it’s not Impa’s job to care about the princess’s emotional wellbeing. Nor is it her business how the king chooses to treat his daughter. The staff are aware of their troubled dynamic, but nobody can say a word. Nobody dares mention it behind closed doors either.

Apparently, Impa _does_ sympathise.

‘I understand.’

And Zelda is taken by pleasant surprise.

Impa continues. ‘Look, I won’t force you. I am happy to inform His Majesty that you are unavailable. My only concern is, if you are uncooperative, that may only fuel his wrath which, for your sake, I don’t want. If you like, princess, I can come with you. You must appreciate I can’t actually say anything in your defence, but it might help to have somebody there with your best interests at heart. It’s always better knowing one isn’t alone.’

‘You would do that?’

‘Of course.’

Zelda is admittedly relieved, but still in shock. Nobody has ever empathised with her before, let alone taken her side in a sense. The princess wonders what Impa’s true opinion is on the whole matter, but it’s too early to enquire. She twitches a small smile, grateful.

Seeing her father with Impa by her side is certainly less daunting.

‘What if he dismisses you?’

‘Believe it or not, Your Highness, you are well within your rights to challenge His Majesty. If you want somebody present, that’s the agreement he will have to make.’ Impa shrugs. ‘Something tells me that he probably won’t even notice I am there. His priority is to speak to you.’

‘Okay.’

Zelda stands, and, looking only slightly defeated, walks past Impa towards the stairway. She peers behind her shoulder just to make sure Impa is following, and Impa does, indeed, stick to her word. As they enter the castle, a feeling of dread nearly overwhelms Zelda, knowing full well that whatever her father wishes to say, it can’t be good.

* * *

While it was slightly easier to have Impa present, her father was certainly in a foul mood. During their very brief meeting, Zelda could identify that terror in his eyes; he is scared of losing her more than anything, but, unfortunately, her father’s fear did not soften the blow of his words. She always feel so small, so _vulnerable_ as he rebukes her, over and over.

In his opinion, Zelda just isn’t trying hard enough.

And as much as Zelda insists otherwise, it’s hard to fight him, because her pathetic attempts to defend herself only result in her crying. Which she hates. When angry and frustrated, it’s as if all she can do is just _weep—_ her fury evident as she tries to scream back at him, but tears just keep falling. Eventually, the king decides to let Zelda comfort herself, and leaves the room. He doesn’t give Impa even the slightest acknowledgement.

Not that Impa minds. She bows her head as the king passes, and the very second the door is slammed shut, the warrior steps over to Zelda. As she attempts to comfort her, Zelda, almost automatically, slaps Impa’s hand away, before covering her face and just _crying hard_. She shakes wildly, _so angry_ , hating her very existence and wishing she was never born. How much she wants her father to know that.

Impa, in all fairness, is not very good with emotion. Especially as aggressive as this. Zelda really is crying, and Impa can’t decide what to say; whether she should just stay quiet, and just stand there stupidly waiting for Zelda to calm down. But that isn’t fair. That’s not good enough and it is painful having to observe this poor girl cry her heart out.

In one quick movement, Impa just _holds_ her. Tightly. Offering Zelda a security she didn’t realise she needed. Impa expects Zelda to push her away, but almost immediately Zelda rests against her, pressing her face to Impa’s shoulder, hands coming round her back, and grabbing her haori. Zelda’s embrace is almost possessive. As Impa’s shoulder dampens from Zelda crying, she wonders just how long she should hold her for, whether this is actually appropriate, or if she’s helping at all.

Perhaps it’s best she just doesn’t move. Just keep holding her. Cautious, Impa gently strokes Zelda’s hair, and she can feel the princess beginning to relax. She eventually stops crying, breathing quietly against Impa as she pulls her face away, before resting her head to her shoulder. They are like this for a while, and it all goes very quiet.

When Zelda retreats a little, Impa loosens her embrace, but doesn’t let her go completely. Zelda’s eyes are swollen, face red from the crying. She looks exhausted all of a sudden, so _defeated_ and bruised. Impa smiles sympathetically, and softly brushes aside a few strands of Zelda’s hair that has stuck to the princess’s wet face. Zelda just looks up at her almost hopeless, but the anger hasn’t entirely settled yet.

‘Don’t worry,’ Impa says, ‘We will figure this out, I promise.’

Zelda sighs. She feels a little better. She appreciates what Impa has said, but wishes the Sheikah wouldn’t make promises she can’t keep. Her hug was nice. Impa is a good cuddler, maybe a little stiff at first, but she’s warm, cosy, _safe_ , and Zelda is initially confused by how much she actually enjoyed being held by Impa. The two look at each other, and, slowly, Impa’s gaze gradually averts to the window, not too sure what is on Zelda’s mind, uncertain if what she did was out of order, if it matters at all.

It is a little bizarre of Impa to have done this. Zelda might have been in close proximity with her for some time, thanks to training, but she wouldn’t have expected Impa to hold her. And as much as Zelda appreciated Impa comforting her, the princess is pretty certain advisors, or any of the staff, aren’t supposed to do that with the royals. 

Yet to have that barricade dismantled, if only temporary, was quite nice.

There is also a certain charm to Impa’s uncertainty, especially in this moment. Zelda catches herself smiling.

‘You can let me go now.’

Impa does so, inhaling sharply. ‘I hope you’re feeling a little better.’

‘A little,’ Zelda breathes. ‘I, uh, apologise for what happened. I don’t tend to cry in front of people often.’

Impa chuckles. ‘It’s all forgotten about.’

It’s not. Of course it’s not. Impa is pretty sure she is slightly scarred from the emotional trauma Zelda so violently expressed. Perhaps she is beginning to care too much for the young princess, but they have been around one another for a while now. Maybe it’s inevitable Impa would start to form some sort of attachment with her.

Zelda moves away. Glances at Impa, then the floor.

‘Thank you.’

Impa smiles. ‘Sure.’

‘Maybe it would be easier if my father listened to what I have to say, but I am probably too sensitive.’

‘No, you’re not,’ Impa replies. She is sincere. She means what she says, and Zelda is struck by her honesty. ‘You have a lot of people depending on you, Your Highness. Not once are you given any relief. I can’t imagine what you are going through, and, if I’m going to be blunt, His Majesty is being unfair. I hope you know that His Majesty does care for you, though; he, unfortunately, seems to express how much he does in a negative sort of way.’

‘By yelling at me, you mean? Being disappointed in everything that I do?’

Impa winces. ‘Ah, well. . .’

‘It means something, that you actually . . . you _are_ seeing things from my perspective. Albeit, I don’t deserve your sympathy, though, Impa. Because as much as I struggle with how my father speaks to me, he isn’t wrong. I can feel sorry for myself as much as I want to, but that doesn’t erase the fact that I _have_ to somehow unlock these powers which I don’t know if I even have. Every time I stare at it—’ she raises her hand, the Triforce dormant, ‘—nothing happens. And I keep _expecting_ something to happen.’

She stops. Lowers her arm.

‘I don’t know if I’m making any sense.’

‘You are, princess.’

‘Oh.’

‘And you are deserving of much more than sympathy,’ Impa adds. ‘If there is anything that I can do to help you, or make you feel better about yourself, please tell me. In the meantime, I’ll do everything I can to support you.’ She hesitates. ‘I mean, I’m no god, but . . . well, you’re not alone in this. So if there is anything, please know you can tell me.’

‘So, when you say _anything_ . . .’

‘In every sense, yes.’

Zelda doesn’t know what to say, what to ask for, what she wants. To be honest, she wouldn’t mind another cuddle. But she can’t be _weak_. She can’t allow herself too much comfort, she can’t allow herself to succumb to her own emotions and have Impa pick up the pieces. Impa isn’t here to _save_ the princess, but guide her, and Zelda must respect that.

However, the _openness_ of Impa’s invitation is questionable. Zelda blinks at her, thinking. Whatever Impa is happy to offer her, if it is really _anything_ , then Zelda is curious, and that curiosity is slowly transforming into something else entirely. She takes a step towards Impa, whom remains unmoving. Impa silently studies Zelda, her expression, body language, how she might possibly be interpreting what she said.

The princess is young, though, emotionally and intellectually. To be offered anything at all must be an unusual experience, and evidently Zelda doesn’t know where to begin. It’s actually endearing. It’s sweet. And Impa knows she shouldn’t describe Her Royal Highness as _cute_ , but how can she not? The more she gets to know Zelda, the more there is to discover, and that despite her years, Zelda is wiser than Impa gives her credit for.

In fact, Princess Zelda is heart breaking. She is pretty, and yet her fragility is almost torn by the amount of fury and terror burning within her. Impa is honestly in awe. And how much she wishes she could help this poor girl. Make her feel better. Give her all the support and reassurance and comfort that she can. Because as the prophecy draws nearer to coming true, Zelda is only going to become more desperate, more isolated.

More lonely.

And Impa is determined to ensure that never happens.

Perhaps wisely, she takes a step back. Zelda tenses at Impa’s retreat.

‘I was thinking . . .’ Zelda turns away. Impa is slightly anxious she may have offended her. ‘. . . the last time my father embraced me. It must have been a while ago, because I cannot recall.’ Zelda’s throat aches, lungs burning; she needs to cry again. ‘I really miss my mother.’

‘What was she like?’

‘Kind,’ Zelda says. ‘Strong. Unlike me.’

‘Your Highness—’

‘Don’t say I’m wrong.’ She faces Impa again, a few stray tears trickling down her cheeks. Impa’s heart is sore. ‘Father wishes I was stronger. Better. He wishes I was more like you, which is probably why he had you train me, to follow me around and take care of me.’

‘It’s a huge responsibility—what is expected of you. You can’t do it alone, which is why I am here.’

‘Really?’ Zelda sighs, exasperated. Tired. She closes her eyes briefly. There is little point in getting angry with Impa. She is only trying to help. _Trying_. ‘You believe that?’

‘I believe in you,’ Impa smiles. ‘I have never once doubted you. I know this process will take time, but you _can_ do this, princess.’

To have anybody believe in her, _to actually mean it_ , Zelda can’t think of anyone. She watches Impa, waiting for Impa to falter, to reveal her lie, but it soon becomes clear she means every word. Every time they have trained, Impa _has_ been supportive and encouraging, but she never made it clear, _this clear_ , how much she believed in Zelda’s success.

Zelda only hopes not to disappoint. Dreads her own failure.

She flinches when Impa moves in, just to dry those few tears which continue to linger. Sighs, and closes her eyes as Impa’s hand, her fingertips delicate on her skin, strokes down to her chin, jawline, this tender, uncertain moment in which she opens her eyes, just to see Impa’s face again, her scarlet eyes, surprisingly youthful face for somebody so ruthless.

They pause.

One of them sighs, and then she can feel Impa’s lips on hers. Heat rises, burning her cheeks, and her body immediately reacts; she shudders, arms by her sides, her head empty, heart must have stopped, and Impa daringly allows their kiss to last a moment longer; she moves slightly, the tip of her boot touching Zelda’s, her tongue pushed up to hers briefly, a wonderful, intimate, heavy exchange which leaves Zelda curious, delirious for more.

The moment it all ends, Impa’s absence is excruciating.

Without opening her eyes once, Zelda whispers, barely able to breathe.

‘— _Again_.’

Impa obliges. Zelda responds, alive, and reaches for her, pulling tight at Impa’s collar as she kisses her back this time, her mouth pressed so hard to hers; their kisses long and deep.

When Impa said she would do anything, perhaps her offer was truly limitless. At least, that is something Zelda is beginning to come to terms with.


	2. Chapter 2

The changing of the guard is a bit of a pelaver. One of the latest additions to the staff is struggling especially, much to the frustration of his seniors. Hyrule Castle not only has great standing within its own Kingdom, but worldwide. Everything must be efficient, and everything must be performed flawlessly. With King Rhoam desperately requiring more men for his armies, home and abroad, now is not the time to be making mistakes. 

When mistakes _do_ occur, this usually results in being _screamed_ at by the commanding officer once their shift is complete. However, this morning, Impa is in charge of the guard. This isn’t an unusual occurrence; in fact, this was something she was typically appointed for before Rhoam changed her title to advisor. The mistake from the newest member of the guard does not pass her by, although Impa’s disciplining doesn’t require shouting, bullying and humiliation. In fact, her approach very much reflects Sheikah tradition.

From a very young age, children belonging to the Sheikah tribe tend to be immediately trained. While there is plenty of physical skill required to achieve the status of a warrior, for the Sheikah a significant amount is also mental. To somehow no longer feel the pain, starvation, thirst; to focus without distraction, the fear of death, to push forward no matter the cost. There is a reason, however, why only the Sheikah can achieve this mental state. Some members of the Sheikah even fail—Impa’s oldest sister, Purah, had other interests. And while Impa doesn’t throw this demand on the Hyrulian armies, there are references.

She has the guard take another shift at the entrance of Castle Town. Which means no sleep. To be on one’s feet with minimal breaks is quite a huge feat, but when she comes to check on his progress, he is still standing. Obviously keen to prove himself. That’s what she looks for: determination. Because it doesn’t matter really if mistakes are made, so long as one is enthusiastic to learn and improve, and nobody is perfect from the start. Impa says little to the guard, but dismisses him; he does a good job not revealing his relief too vividly.

‘Have you heard?’

As Impa proceeds to the barracks, one of the officers has come over to talk. He is older than her, but he doesn’t share her rank. Impa shot up the ranks quickly when she joined the guard, which seems so long ago now. 

‘Heard what?’

‘King Rhoam has his eye on one of the men. Fresh meat. Enrolled only three months ago.’

Impa stops, frowning. ‘Has his eye on _whom_?’

‘Think the kid’s name is Link. His Majesty may appoint him to be Princess Zelda’s personal guard. That’s what the rumour is, anyway. Which kind of threw me. I thought that’s what your job entailed? To protect the princess?’

Immediately, it looks as if Impa is being replaced.

And that doesn’t sit right with her.

However, she was never actually meant to be Zelda’s _personal_ guard, let alone her knight. Impa’s first priority remains with the king; she serves him directly, not his daughter. She considers this Link, these rumours; whether she should approach His Majesty about the matter, or simply ignore the latest gossip. Whatever happens, King Rhoam’s decision won’t reflect Impa’s efficiency, or how much he rates her. In fact, she _knows_ why he might be doing this: not only because Zelda requires the best protection, but also because Impa’s duty isn’t strictly with Her Royal Highness, but the Hyrulian armies as a whole.

‘You certainly are around her a lot of the time.’

Impa throws him a look. ‘So?’

The officer merely shrugs, but maintains this illegible smile. 

‘Just, some of the men have been talking.’

‘Go on.’

‘Ah . . . You know, actually—’

‘You brought it up,’ Impa challenges. ‘What are they saying?’

‘Well, you do spend an _awful amount_ of time together. And it hasn’t gone unnoticed how much you clearly prefer her company above all others.’

‘Of course I do. Wouldn’t you?’

He bites down on his lower lip. ‘Just—be careful. People talk.’

Panic assaults her. She considers the kiss she shared with Zelda yesterday. Whether anybody had caught them in the act. But, to be honest, somebody would have said something by now. They _have_ been spending a lot of time together, however surely the officers and the guards realise why. Zelda needs help, she needs her training, and Impa is happy to offer her that. _Maybe_ she prioritises Zelda above all her other duties, but this _is_ the princess of Hyrule. 

A war is coming. One would think a scandal between a princess and her father’s advisor would be the last thing on anybody’s mind. 

Stepping inside the barracks, which, as always, _reek_ , Impa only intends to speak with one of the senior officers, but finds herself searching for this Link. Obviously he will be young, and if he is new, then he may be quieter than the others. With her acute senses, Impa is able to ascertain and judge people well and fast, but nobody within the barracks strikes her as the type. Then, she wonders if this Link is even real.

Impa passes a letter from the king to the senior officer. 

‘You should know, Lady Impa,’ he says, accepting the letter. ‘Our attempts at reconciliation with the Rito have failed once again.’ Impa rolls her eyes. ‘I appreciate this is not what you wanted to hear, so I can try to—’

‘No.’ Impa turns away. ‘I’ll deal with the matter.’

The Rito have always been difficult. More so than the Zora. However, even the Sheikah tribe have their issues with the Hyrulian Royal Family. Hence why generations of Sheikah turned to The Yiga Clan, a rogue tribe which has attempted to terrorise and assassinate the Hylian royals for years. Impa grew up with several people who turned to The Yiga Clan eventually, and even her sister struggled, at first, to understand why Impa wanted to serve the Hylian Royal Family. Now more than ever, though, the Hyrulian armies need the other tribes.

She had a hunch the Rito wouldn’t be cooperative. Impa doesn’t want to use violence against them to make her point, but it’s looking as if her choices are limited. Sometimes, tribes choose to acquiesce if defeated. 

As Impa nears the exit to the barracks, she instantly recognises Link’s presence. Almost like she’s been around him before, that they’ve met once upon a time. Link is short, young, massive blue eyes, and a numb expression. He acknowledges his superior briefly, before walking past towards his crib. Light on his feet, yet shoulders slightly drooped, as if carrying a mighty weight he can’t quite lift by himself. And she knows, definitely, they have met before.

It is nearly the hour when Her Royal Highness will wake up, and training begins. Trying her best not to let the rumours bother her, Impa proceeds for Hyrule Castle, that concern slowly transforming into an even more disastrous emotion: excitement. She is excited to see the princess, more so than ever before, and Impa won’t entertain what that means.

There have been multiple theories on how Princess Zelda can access her powers. Some of these theories are questionable. Does she need to suffer? Does she need to feel as if she is going to die, in order for these abilities to unlock? Impa has spent a great deal of time researching the answers herself alongside the princess. She has noticed a pattern: the victim, or host, must endure negativity. Fear. Terror. Isolation. 

Horrible torture on a seventeen year old woman is disturbing. Besides, despite Impa’s severe training as a little girl, she doesn’t believe that is always the answer. For some time, and yesterday certainly helped, she has wondered whether positive reinforcement might work. Maybe it isn’t terror Zelda should feel, but happiness. Maybe it isn’t hatred Zelda should feel, but love. Maybe Zelda shouldn’t be afraid anymore, but liberated.

Zelda appears from the Castle, presence inviting, and it is immediately clear neither have forgotten yesterday. The morning sunlight makes her golden hair glow, her green eyes almost turquoise in the shine, and, to Impa’s surprise, a smile. Impa glances at her lips once, wondering to kiss them again, and she is struck by how much she would do for this woman. Honestly, anything. It is terrifying to feel so deeply for another like this.

Before training begins, Zelda wants a brief walk around the Castle grounds. This isn’t an odd request. She has wanted to do this before, but alone. This time, she asks Impa to come with her, and as Impa walks by her side through towards the gardens, she is distinctly aware of some of the guards watching. Well, they can watch, she doesn’t care. When she is around Zelda, actually, it is hard to care about anything else.

Something is slightly different about the princess.

A calmness. All the anxiety and terror, _still—_ for now. Zelda is quiet for some time, as if in prayer, idly running her fingers across the forest of flowers as they walk through the gardens. The princess wonders, if maybe one day, all of this will be destroyed. The grass, flowers, trees, the Castle itself; the amazing thing to just walk with another person, and feel content, if only temporarily. How nice it is to be normal.

They stop, beneath a cedar tree, the sunlight beginning to glare. 

‘What are you thinking about?’

Impa is taken aback by Zelda’s bizarre question.

‘Nothing in particular, princess.’

Zelda doesn’t appear convinced. 

A warm breeze flows through her hair, and she sighs. 

‘Do you think about death at all?’

‘Not really,’ Impa says honestly. ‘Actually, I suppose we think of death differently.’

‘Oh?’

‘For the Sheikah, death is not final. More, the end of a chapter, if you like. We live again. Someone different, maybe. What makes us who we are, our spirit, _that_ doesn’t die. I know Hylians, on the other hand, fear death.’ Impa rests a hand on her hip, tilts her head. ‘You are thinking about death, understandably, because we are about to enter a war.’

‘And there is nothing I can do to stop it.’

‘Perhaps not. We can still end the war, though.’

‘What if I can’t, Impa?’

‘You will. Give it time. And, some things are _meant_ to happen. There are some things we just can’t control, but we can work towards improving the situation. Try not to worry about what’s already been, princess, and focus on the now; yourself.’

Zelda looks away. ‘I wish I could think the way you do.’

The atmosphere suddenly turns slightly cold.

Zelda shudders.

Impa says, ‘You ask me what I think about. I think about the war. I think about winning it. I think about returning home to Kakariko once this has ended. I think about how we still have so much work ahead of us, especially with the Rito tribe who refuse to cooperate. I think about His Majesty, and my sister. For peace, at least for a little while, to be restored to Hyrule. I think about a great many things, but, most of all, I think about you.’

Because despite all her focus and brilliance, Impa is also human. And as much as she chooses to deny it, she has wants, her own fears; and Zelda continues to tremble, fists clenched, her whole body stiff as Impa’s words take effect. An embrace, like yesterday, in which Zelda is held securely and filled with warmth. Brought back to life, healed, and wanted not for what she is, but who; not what she must become, but who she _is_ ; her soul, her heart, what makes her whole. 

Impa doesn’t see a god or saviour, but a girl with all the world depending on her to survive. 

The pressure so devastating, anybody would break. 

Except Zelda hasn’t. 

‘I think about you, as well. All the time.’

Neither were expecting Zelda to confess such. It’s spoken in a whisper, as if what she is saying is so sinful; unheard of; something which should never be uttered, and now it has been; now they know, and that’s when Zelda starts to feel anxious again. Which is just permanent. Always anxious. Always scared. Those few minutes earlier were a rare occurrence, and to have them snatched from her so quickly, she loathes it.

Zelda raises her hand, the Triforce refusing to glow, and she really has started to believe it just won’t happen. They have tried so many things, and she has punished herself enough. Nothing has happened. Perhaps Hylia chose the wrong one. Perhaps Zelda is a fraud, and with this war, they shan’t win; everybody will die, including the woman before her, and she clenches her fist so tightly, her nails digging into her skin. 

Hard enough to draw blood.

The power is dead. The Goddess, herself, has abandoned Zelda.

Left her to shatter as it all goes awry.

That’s when Impa takes her hand with both of her own, clasping it firmly, the Triforce hidden beneath her palm. Zelda studies Impa’s hands around hers, raw and torn from the excessive use of her blade, the abuse received in battle every day; all those years of long, agonising hours of training. Yet so warm and soft, bringing the back of Zelda’s hands to her lips, pressing a kiss its dormant mark, not as worship, but enamoured.

In time—to give _this_ time, the princess must try.


	3. Chapter 3

She dreams, only to awake in terror, drenched in sweat, body aflame and shivering; the cold abandon a tired misery in her heart. It is almost impossible to sleep nowadays and whenever she eventually manages to achieve rest, her body ultimately betrays her. The nightmares cradle her aching self as she tosses, turns, nobody to save her from her own mind. How she can conjure such images, the faces of those she loves, slowly burning, disappearing before her, and there is nothing she can do.

The training is worse. Impa has given up trying to help Zelda unlock her abilities, and, instead, has focussed on ways in which she can use the Sheikah Slate instead. The weapon having been primarily in Purah’s care, Zelda had only researched extensively on how the Slate can be used. When Impa offered the Sheikah Slate for Zelda to wield, it took her time to come to grips with it; the Slate responds to its owner almost immediately, sensitive to demands, but, with Impa’s patient guidance, Zelda can, at the very least, use the Slate in order to defend herself and others. If she can’t be given a blade, there has to be another way.

Still, despite their failure to discover how her powers can be liberated, Impa continues to promise Zelda that it will happen. One way or another, they _will_ figure this out. Maybe this so-called training isn’t the answer, and maybe Impa is right that they should prioritise other ways in which Zelda can fight. For reasons unbeknownst to her, Zelda’s father is unhappy with the idea that Impa trains Zelda on how to use a sword. So, instead, Impa turned to the next best thing. And, if anything, Zelda just enjoys the time they have alone, even if, despite the other day, they have managed to keep things strictly platonic.

The past couple of days, however, Impa has been absent. And her absence hurts. Zelda doesn’t know the finer details of Impa’s errands, but she is aware Impa has had to travel to Rito Village; an attempt to reconcile with the tribe. As somebody who represents the Hyrulian Crown, it is expected that Impa will receive some hostility, but Zelda hopes she manages to appease the Rito. While Impa’s work is essential, that doesn’t erase the fact Zelda misses her, and her absence in particular has made it extremely transparent to the princess just how important Impa is—life without her is empty.

In fact, to be around somebody constantly, to depend on somebody, and even feel safe in their presence, that is something Zelda has never had before. Not until Impa came along. And what Zelda feels for her is confusing. Agony. She thinks of her often, of the way she kissed her, whether she has kissed anybody else in the meantime, and that thought alone stings. It also frustrates Zelda that, even though her priorities should be on her training, she does catch herself wondering about her Sheikah warrior frequently. She enjoys the partial distraction Impa provides her, but also that sense of security; that what Impa sees in her is honest, that Impa really does care for Zelda, and will do anything she can in order to show this. 

But Zelda knows an intimate relationship with her advisor would be deemed inappropriate. Particularly in Impa’s case. She is to _care_ and _protect_ the princess, not meddle with her heart and cause her to feel emotions she shouldn’t even be aware of currently. However, it is unfair to place the blame primarily on Impa. When they kissed, Zelda was more than enthusiastic, and it has been hard work to resist Impa since. Because she can kiss well, her lips are soft, _wonderful_ ; she is experienced, and touches Zelda with such tenderness, it makes the princess ache and almost cry out for more.

Yet, Impa had promised _anything_. Anything the princess required.

The moment Princess Zelda hears of Lady Impa’s return, she pursues her; only to check Impa is all right, only to confirm her dearest friend is alive and well. Unfortunately, upon her arrival, Impa was to report to King Rhoam at once, and evidently whatever occurred in Rito Village is significant, considering both the king and his advisor have been in a meeting for nearly two hours now. In an attempt not to worry over their conversation, as well as calm herself, Zelda spends those hours researching as much as she can on the Sheikah Slate, as well as the Divine Beasts which have yet to be piloted.

A theory is that the Divine Beasts choose their pilot. These Beasts, despite their destructive nature, are very much alive which truly adds further mystery behind Sheikahn science. Zelda had only briefly discussed the Divine Beasts with Impa, but it soon became clear to her that Impa’s didn’t know as much as her sibling does, who is far more into Sheikahn technology. It amazes Zelda how two sisters can be so different. Despite her ignorance, though, there is a reassuring charm that Impa doesn’t actually know everything, including that of her own tribe. Zelda can empathise with what it means to feel so detached, the black sheep, amongst a community which shares one identity. 

Much to Zelda’s frustration, her father requires Impa’s presence and advice most of the day. By late evening, Zelda decides it best to leave Impa alone once she is dismissed. Impa works hard enough as it is, and the last thing she probably wants to do at the end of the day is knock on Zelda’s door and attend to her afterwards. Even though Zelda isn’t entirely sure what exactly she wants from Impa. Maybe all she wants to do is just _check_ on her, ask her how she’s doing, that _I’ve missed you_ , but Zelda won’t, she can’t, and, instead, she retires to her chambers.

The moon is so bright this evening. Her entire room glows, and a sense of dread fills from the pit of her stomach. Going to sleep, trying to go to sleep, to even _dream at all_ , Zelda only knows what will happen; what will happen to _her_ , and she wishes never to sleep again. To not wake up, panting, scared, drenched in her own sweat; how the anxiety has begun to disturb her in every sense. Knowing that this will never end, there is no way out; her reality so clear, so vivid, she _knows_ all those she loves are going to die because she simply is not strong enough. Inadequate and useless, how anybody as brilliant as Impa would ever give her the time of day is baffling.

And, thus, she wonders, what does Impa think of her?

If all she says and encourages of Princess Zelda is just out of duty, or is it sincere?

Zelda refuses to retire. She accuses herself of cowardice. Her own mind frightens her, and, instead, the princess escapes her chambers, proceeds for the castle library; a monstrosity in itself. The thousands of books, old and new, towered upon shelf after shelf. Anybody would find this room daunting, and yet it’s the only place in the world where Zelda feels hidden, protected, nobody can find her here. She will read, and she will read for hours if she has to just so she can avoid the night.

As she retrieves a book on Zoran lore, high on the bookcase, her hand slips slightly; the worn book opens, and as the paper cuts her skin, she hisses quietly— _retreats_. Looks at the wound, sighs, _stupid girl_ , and it bleeds, _drip drop_ , staining the floorboard below. Zelda sucks on the injury, the book clasped tightly in her grip, and yet it refuses to cease bleeding. Such a stupid, trivial mistake.

‘Your Highness?’

Zelda jumps in surprise.

God knows when Impa arrived. If she knew Zelda would be here.

If it was actually her intention to see Zelda in the first place, or if this is mere coincidence.

And Zelda nearly gasps. A fresh, sore cut has fractured Impa’s beautiful face, travelling past her eye; _someone has done that to her_ , and immediately Zelda shudders with fury. A horrible rage, ugly and vile. Zelda looks away. Shakes her wounded hand. Why does this daft paper cut sting so much?

‘You’re bleeding.’

‘It’s nothing.’

‘May I—?’

‘No!’

Zelda’s voice echoes the library. Impa’s expression hardens.

Almost a disinterested look. Close to sarcasm. Zelda can’t be sure.

‘How was your trip?’

Impa swallows. ‘Fine.’ Her voice is blunt. It annoys Zelda. ‘I wanted to see you before I retired—’

‘You should retire. I wanted to be alone,’ and the princess resents how her voice cracks. ‘I _want_ to be alone.’ Turns to Impa again, trying her best to appear calm, proper, everything a princess ought to be, but instead she nearly _breaks_. Just seeing Impa hurt, that someone would do this to her, it really makes Zelda so mad. ‘What happened?’ Zelda gestures to her face, to Impa’s face. ‘You didn’t have that when you left.’

‘A minor . . .’

‘What?’

‘. . . collision. Wrong time. Unfortunately, I didn’t really make a good impression with the Rito.’

Zelda pauses. Breathes. She raises a brow. ‘You upset them.’

‘Not on purpose,’ Impa clarifies. ‘You may find their Chief to be— _difficult_.’

‘That’s your excuse?’

‘Would you like me to apologise?’

‘Perhaps you are not suited for the job, after all.’

‘Excuse me?’

Zelda pauses again.

 _Stop_. She needs to stay calm. She isn’t angry at Impa. Is she? Or, _is she_? Because Impa getting hurt, that must be her fault. The fact she wasn’t able to reconcile with the Rito in the king’s name; the fact she ultimately failed, maybe, _yes_ , somebody else would be better for the job. Somebody less easily distracted, somebody less emotional, somebody who isn’t like Impa at all.

It is evident from Impa’s tone she is offended, and Zelda doesn’t understand why she wants this reaction.

Maybe knowing that her opinion _matters_ to somebody.

‘What’re you reading?’

Knowing her opinion matters to Impa.

‘I—’ Zelda lifts her book, ‘The Zora. It’s . . .’

‘What do you mean I’m not suited for the job, princess?’

Oh.

So it _is_ personal.

Zelda can’t look at her. Just for a short while. She doesn’t like to see Impa upset, and she is genuinely shocked Impa has appeared so vulnerable before her. Exhaling shakily, Zelda presses the book close to her chest.

Looks at Impa again, hoping her gaze is steady.

And she nearly drops the book. Clings to it tighter. Lowers her head. No. _No_. Impa can’t look at her like this. She can’t look at her like her opinion actually _does_ matter this much; that Zelda’s disappointment, it cuts right through her heart, and there is no chance Impa will be able to walk away from this.

Zelda realises, suddenly loathing herself, that she has actually deliberately _hurt_ her, a punishment Impa has never deserved, and knowing just how cruel she can be draws tears to her eyes, and she gasps, the book hitting the cold floor, breaking open, and as Zelda covers her face with her hands, she whispers quietly, over and over,

_I am sorry_

Impa was never supposed to react this way.

The Sheikah warrior has stepped over, Zelda tenses, watches as Impa picks up the book, puts it aside; takes Zelda’s wrist, inspects the paper cut—the blood slowly oozing, and there’s a slight moment in which Zelda sees her panic. But it’s nothing. It’s a _paper cut_. Something weighted and tired shadows Impa’s expression, and Zelda begins to realise just how exhausting of a woman she can be. Impa’s face is wounded, yet she still frets over Zelda, even when the injury is as trivial, as domestic, as this.

Zelda yanks her hand out of Impa’s grip, temporarily leaving Impa in a sensitive state, until the princess places both her hands on either side of the warrior’s face, cradling her, and she comes closer, sighs, rests her forehead to hers. It is impossible to express how much Zelda has missed Impa. She decides not to say anything at all. Becomes distinctly aware of the fact Impa is trembling slightly, so tired and young; despite all her prowess, needing somebody to hold her.

‘I didn’t mean what I said.’

‘ . . . yeah, I know.’

Zelda kisses her. She doesn’t mean to. She kisses Impa, though, hard on the mouth.

Nearly says it. A confession they both dread, yet think about often.

So, instead, an invitation; all else discarded and forgotten.

‘Come to bed with me?’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not sure who is reading this, but, if you are, thank you! The feel of this story, I can't quite place. Not sure if this is a projection of my own mental state currently. I attended a funeral for somebody extremely close to me, and I am finding this story, as slow as I am to update, to be a really good opportunity to channel everything. Plus, I enjoy the character study.  
> Many thanks for reading! Of course, I shall work towards updating soon.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the rating has changed to explicit.

The invitation was initially meant without any specific motive; innocent. Although Zelda hasn’t ever been sure of what she really wants, if she can ever have anything at all. Their whole lives are completely dedicated to the war, to winning it, that neither have rarely spent any time with another human being in so long. Let alone sleep with one. To be starved of affection; needing somebody to simply hold her throughout the night, to ease her sleep; potentially wake up in the morning, and, for once, she isn’t totally alone.

It is slightly nerve-wracking. For Zelda, anyway. When they both arrive at Zelda’s chambers, Impa doesn’t particularly express any discomfort or uncertainty. In fact, she is unbelievably laidback about the whole procedure, and Zelda wonders if Impa is just too tired to react. She accepts the princess’s invitation but doesn’t follow it up with any questions, such as _why—_ as if the curiosity has escaped her, or this sort of invitation is something she has been expecting for a while. Yet, as Impa discards her hoari and boots, Zelda realises it must be exhaustion.

Because the moment Impa’s head hits the pillow, she is immediately fast asleep. Zelda breathes, aware how close Impa is, lying beside her, perhaps unaware. She isn’t sure. Zelda can feel the heat from Impa’s body, hear the sound of her paced breathing as she sinks deeper and deeper into a sleep. For a few beats, Zelda is tense all over, not wanting to move lest she wake up Impa. Yet, as the minutes turn to hours, she eventually relaxes. Shuffles a little closer, face-to-face, watching Impa for a short while in the dark, how bizarre it is to witness her looking so peaceful. Completely oblivious, and actually relaxed; Zelda wishes Impa were like this more often.

Hesitantly, Zelda raises her hand, her fingertips lightly tracing Impa’s wound torn down her face. Does it hurt? She thinks, does Impa feel physical pain at all anymore? Glances at her lips. _She’s so close._ Suddenly so _vulnerable_ , and it sinks in just how young Impa actually is; despite the warrior’s brilliance and wisdom, she is only a couple years older than Zelda. It is hard not to feel sad for her, to not want to give her the world if she could. What Zelda wants to give Impa, what she feels for her, how she feels right now, is so confused.

Zelda’s heart stops when, still asleep, Impa accidentally slides her leg across hers; comes only a little closer, lets out a light sigh, and she is most definitely gone to the world. And Zelda is almost tempted to _wake her up_ , although she isn’t sure why; it makes her tremble, makes her flush, wondering what would happen if she dared to. But she _can’t_. To disturb Impa would be devastating, and the poor woman deserves her rest. She is so tired, so hurt, and the least Zelda can do is ensure she gets her well earned sleep.

Gradually, as her eyelids start to feel heavier, the weight of her fatigue beginning to take effect, Zelda pulls the sheet up around them; mere inches from one another as she surrenders, gives in, falling into slumber. And it takes her a minute, another minute, and she is dreaming; she dreams of Hyrule Castle, exactly the same, but burning, the sounds of a man, wailing out—her father—as malice starts to infect the dead, her own father, stood before her, pleading to be saved, _for help_ , and all Zelda can do is stand there and watch.

Everything around her decays. And she can see, one by one, the faces of those she cares for, torn from her embrace. One by one. As Urbosa clings to Zelda, _so angry_ , so disappointed, _you let us all down_ , and how _ashamed_ her mother would be; and her mother can’t even look at her, refuses to recognise Zelda as her own, this indescribable hatred in her father’s eyes as Zelda willingly allows him to die. Impa, so close, but out of reach; blood streaming down her body, and Zelda can’t be sure who the blood belongs to; a sly, arrogant smile reaching Impa’s stained lips as she says, her voice hoarse and cruel, ‘ _I always knew you would fail, princess_.’

Zelda wakes up. Slowly. An overwhelming sadness screaming at her all at once, and she opens her eyes slightly, this inconceivable depression flooding through her. The dream sticks in her mind like poison, and she remembers everything; so vivid and harsh. Urbosa, her mother, her father; Impa’s smile which, now, seems so unnatural. Her words, as clear as day, and Zelda shudders, burying her face into the pillow and wanting it all to stop.

Someone soft and kind strokes her hair, and Zelda flinches, grabs Impa’s offending hand, and looks at her sharply. For a second, expecting Impa to be as she was in the dream, the face of death, but when she does look, Impa appears more worried than anything. Shocked. Her face is completely different than in the dream. It’s softer, prettier; normal. Her eyes are warmer. More familiar. This is her friend. This is someone she knows, who knows _her_ , who does care, who would never doubt her for a second, and Zelda lets Impa go.

It isn’t morning yet. The moon is terribly bright. Makes Impa’s hair appear silver; she looks beautiful, of course, and Zelda feels so guilty to even share the same space as someone who is— _better_. Who gives her so much patience and loyalty, and Zelda has nothing to offer in return. Then Impa resumes touching her, gently combing her hand through Zelda’s hair, past her cheek, down to her shoulder, and maybe she knows what Zelda dreams about; perhaps Zelda doesn’t have to voice anything after all because Impa is aware.

As Zelda meets Impa’s gaze, something stirs deep inside her. Desperate for attention. It settles, heavy, below her abdomen, and the rest of her body responds; a wave of excitement travelling up her belly, her chest, her lungs impacted, as she breathes just a little harder, gradual, all her focus completely dedicated on Impa, and she wants to know what Impa feels to; whether this fragility only Zelda endures, if this is all in her head, but she becomes extremely obsessed with the idea of Impa’s lips being on hers again, her lips being elsewhere on her, and Zelda teases slightly, shuffling slightly closer, looking up at Impa with this wild, unfamiliar want, and Impa watches her too, suddenly frozen, slowly understanding. 

Yet when Impa moves in to kiss her, Zelda retreats, only for a brief moment. And when she comes back with an open-mouthed kiss, her tongue brushing her lower lip, inside her mouth, she can feel Impa body’s actually _relaxing_. They kiss deeply, slowly; the whole while, that same sensation wet and hot between Zelda’s thighs as she pulls Impa up against her body. She strokes her hands down Impa’s shoulders, her biceps, an amazing _thrill_ when Impa, _finally_ , encourages Zelda to lie on her back, Impa hovering over her, hair falling over her face as she kisses Zelda _differently_ this time. There is so much care, patience, this amazing art in her kissing, as if communicating with Zelda, talking to her through kisses, passionate and tender; slow and attentive. 

Zelda feels her body. Sighs. Impa is lean, yet toned. Curvaceous, womanly, soft despite her athletic form. Heavenly. Zelda arches her back as she leans up to her, dragging her palms up Impa’s back, trying to find a way to get rid of the skin-tight top. Impa, eventually, recognises what Zelda is attempting to do and she smirks, almost cocky, and then she stops kissing her, her absence a _shock_ , but Zelda watches as Impa leans up, somewhere managing to pull at her top, and as it comes undone, Impa observes Zelda’s reaction as she reveals more naked skin. Zelda exhales slowly, throbbing, and it isn’t fair how anybody can look _this good_.

Impatient, Zelda yanks Impa down to kiss her again, wanting her bound breasts to be free and in her hands, but Impa seems to be more interested in what Zelda hides beneath her dress. Zelda laughs nervously when Impa, quite confidently, finds the lace keeping her dress on. And as it becomes looser, dropping past her shoulders, Zelda sits upright, allowing it to pool beneath her. She straddles Impa, arms around the back of her neck as they kiss, urgent and now certain of what they want, and what they are about to do. 

Whether this will have any ramifications, Zelda doesn’t care at this moment. She has wanted this for months, and she wants Impa to know that. It all feels like a blur, a dream, afterwards. They manage to strip each other from what little garments remain, tangled together as Zelda pushes Impa back onto the mattress, the sheets following, and Impa takes this opportunity to just appreciate the view. Impa’s expression is hardly recognisable as she admires Zelda’s naked body with a desire Zelda has never witnessed before.

To be looked at this way, to be touched and kissed this way, Zelda has never felt more human.

She leans down, pressing her mouth to Impa’s, aware of Impa’s hands roaming. Pressed to her breasts, massaging her nipple softly, which makes Zelda writhe and moan softly. Impa’s lips on her neck, collarbone, palms stroking down her back, squeezing Zelda’s ass briefly, which makes the princess blush and become very self-aware. Apparently Impa is satisfied with her exploring, however, smiling when they kiss again, deep this time, her hands coming round Zelda’s hips, pushing her gently against herself. Zelda gasps, closing her eyes, as Impa presses her palm against her warmth, and Zelda is so positively soaked for her. Impa groans quietly, amazed, flattered even, that Zelda can be so expressive with her.

At first Zelda isn’t entirely sure how she _should_ respond. But, to be honest, she’s not able to _think_ at all when Impa readjusts herself, watching Zelda above her as she, cautiously, rubs her fingertip over and across Zelda’s clit, sinking only slightly inside her. Teasing, giving Zelda the opportunity to have some idea what is going to happen. Zelda feels reassured by Impa’s experience, that she knows what she is doing, that this _is_ Impa. Pressing her hands to the mattress, Zelda raises her hips as Impa circles her clit with her middle finger, tenderly watching Zelda’s responses. 

Zelda has only done this to herself, and, after a point, it has got tedious for her. With Impa, however, it is different. It is _better._ It doesn’t compare. The sensation is just _so much more intense_ , and Zelda is actually struggling to control herself. She gasps, exhales, knocking her head back as she bucks her hips a little, wanting Impa to keep going. This is nice. This is _so_ good. She wants Impa to know, but every time she tries to speak, she moans instead, and as Impa keeps working at her clit beneath her, Zelda only gets wetter and wetter, this critical need to come overwhelming.

Opening her eyes, she looks down at Impa, how she watches her, and Zelda slams her mouth onto hers, biting down hard on Impa’s lower lip as she manages to come. Hard. A sticky fluid escaping her as Zelda shudders through her orgasm, stops breathing, her whole body rigid and shaking as she lets out a silent scream. But she is far from done. And Impa knows that. Zelda exhales, allowing Impa to switch positions, so Zelda is on all fours, and Impa behind. Zelda lifts herself to her knees, back pressed to Impa’s breasts as Impa effortlessly slides her fingers inside Zelda—from the angle and the enthusiasm from Zelda, it is easy to find her g-spot, and Zelda cries out, falling further against Impa.

Zelda is tight. Impa can feel her tense around her fingers, and that’s okay. Zelda isn’t used to this. Impa will be slow with her, gentle; Zelda needs to adjust. Yet, and Impa is impressed, Zelda manages to find her pace, manages to find a comfortable rhythm, and as Impa curls her finger, just so it hits Zelda’s g-spot perfectly, Zelda’s enthusiasm gets louder. She rocks into Impa, eyes shut, trying to grab her, pressing her hand to Impa’s thigh as she moans, screams out as Impa continues to fuck her so brilliantly, and Zelda has never imagined sex to be this way. For anybody to want her this way, to make her feel this way, and she comes again, collapsing into Impa’s open embrace, and needing a few minutes to catch her breath.

Heart wild in her ears, Zelda turns her head, kissing Impa softly, thoroughly, chest heaving as she tries to calm down. 

Then Zelda looks at her. 

‘Where did you learn to do that?’

Impa grins. ‘You enjoyed that, then?’

Zelda kisses her. ‘Thank you.’

There’s no point asking what for. Although Impa is slightly disappointed Zelda would thank her for something which is a pleasure for them both. She embraces Zelda tighter, and Zelda turns, cuddling Impa close, and Impa won’t mention how Zelda’s body has started to _glow_. So radiant, like a goddess herself. They hold each other for a short time, and then they’re kissing again, long and slow, and Zelda immediately makes it clear what she wants.

Impa. She wants her. All of her.

She wants to taste her, feel her come; she wants to hear Impa enjoy herself too. 

Yet, when Zelda encourages Impa back, that’s when her eyes see just how torn and bruised Impa’s body actually is. Her breath is stolen as she delicately presses her palms to where her skin looks most sore, all the knife wounds and scrapes, how many might have been fatal, and she didn’t know such beauty like this existed. The scars are rough, and Zelda becomes hesitant to touch them; she doesn’t want to hurt Impa, yet the sheikah doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, she allows Zelda to study her body, aware of the concern outweighing Zelda’s arousal, and that’s okay. Impa can’t necessarily hide who and what she is, not like this.

Then Zelda kisses them. 

Presses her lips to her wounds, and Impa visibly stiffens. 

An emotion she hasn’t felt before electrifies her, and tears briefly sting her eyes. She inhales shakily, and when Zelda looks up, worried she might have done something wrong, a horrible dread fills Zelda when she realises Impa is trying not to cry.

‘Impa.’

Actually, trying is an understatement. Impa is making great efforts not to break down, and Zelda panics; she hasn’t seen Impa cry before, hasn’t seen her express herself negatively, and the princess doesn’t know what to do.

It was all going so well, so perfectly, and she _ruined_ this—

‘Do you want to talk?’

Impa frowns in her efforts, and then lightly shakes her head. She doesn’t look at Zelda.

‘I didn’t mean to hurt you—’

‘You haven’t,’ Impa manages. 

‘Try and breathe. I—I don’t know what’s happened, I’m sorry—’

 _I don’t know either_ , Impa wants to say. 

But she has some idea. 

‘Shall we cuddle for a bit?’

Impa exhales. ‘Sorry.’ To Zelda’s horror, Impa actually _leaves_ the bed, and Zelda can only watch helplessly as Impa starts to dress herself. Bringing the sheet over her body, Zelda just sits in her confusion, wishing Impa could tell her what she did wrong, because Zelda is so, _so sorry_ , but Impa seems determined to escape Zelda’s bedroom as soon as she possibly can. Which hurts. As if what just happened meant nothing.

Once dressed, Impa snatches her hoari from the floor, shoves on her boots, and Zelda wonders if she is angry at her. Is Impa offended she noticed her war wounds? Is Impa upset Zelda decided to touch them? To even acknowledge them? _Why_ is Impa so upset? 

Unlike Impa, Zelda doesn’t stop herself from crying.

She is quiet. Sobs silently, watching Impa place her kodachi to her hip. 

Then, Impa looks at her, and she isn’t angry or offended. Her expression softens when she sees Zelda crying in silence, and Zelda drops her gaze, not looking at her now. What happened was intense, _a lot happened_ , and she has never felt so close with anybody before. To be abandoned like this is almost traumatising.

‘Don’t be sorry, princess.’

‘What?’ Zelda doesn’t mean to sound so rude.

Actually, she does.

She doesn't understand.

Impa sighs. ‘This isn’t your fault.’ For a significant amount of time, neither speak. If Impa is waiting for Zelda to respond, she will have to wait a while. Zelda tightens the sheets around her naked body, too angry, too confused, to even consider what Impa might be feeling. Not that Impa blames her. As Impa leans over to kiss her, Zelda, at least, responds to that, but kissing Impa only makes her all the more emotional. 

When Impa pulls back, straightens, ready for today’s demands, Zelda’s heart breaks.

‘Try and rest. I’ll find you later today.’

Impa doesn’t wait for Zelda to respond this time. In a few quick strides, she opens the door, and softly closes it behind her. 

Holding the sheets close, Zelda falls back into the bed, alone, and cries herself to sleep, only wishing she knew what she did wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! So . . . yes, this story has developed into something else than originally intended.  
> I always enjoy writing sex when it is successful. But, sometimes, it is interesting to explore when sex goes wrong. Impa is a tricky woman, and, despite her bravado and confidence, I think there is a huge insecurity beneath all of that. Plus, a great deal of pride too. Zelda, herself, is going through a significant amount.  
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! As always, your feedback means the world to me.


End file.
